


Name Them

by LachrymoseLake



Series: Original Work- One Shots [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Battlefield, Character Death, Death, Fantasy, Fantasy Death Customs, Fantasy Religion, Female Warrior, Gen, Other, War, Worldbuilding, battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 20:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18698575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LachrymoseLake/pseuds/LachrymoseLake
Summary: No one expected the felling strike. Not then, after the horn sounded and the fight finished.





	Name Them

 

  Almna expected to die. 

 

  Life as a warrior dictated that such expectancy was a given. But not  _ now _ , not with the victory flags of vibrant violet flying high across the field. Not with allies swarming and the fallen being picked apart by carrion flocks. Not with blades sheathed and bows stowed. 

 

   No one expected the felling strike. Not then, after the horn sounded and the fight finished. No one noticed the supposed corpse as it wriggled and closed a blood-caked, mud-soaked hand around a stray hilt. No one heard the pained whimper from amongst the fallen, the sounds of death far too beige to be set apart in the violent splash of the battlefields’ stained canvas. 

 

  But like a stealing viper through rain-rich grass, that hand struck. The almost-corpse lunged up with a grunt, and the stiffened layers of blood and mud were sprayed with a fresh scarlet as clean cut steal broke the tender skin. 

 

   Wide, wild eyes didn't flinch, droplets of blood seeping into them as it sprayed and Almna's vocal cords were harshly plucked in a pained howl. 

 

   Almna didn’t have time to turn and see her attacker slump lifeless, didn’t have time to catch herself as she followed. Shaking fingers pressed almost wonderingly at her rendered shoulder where it joined to her neck, tacky liquid spilling out in frothy torrents to warm calloused fingers. 

 

   She didn’t remember the impact of her flesh on the sword scarred stone.

 

   Gurgling, gasping, gagging on the very draft of life that sustained her through the war. Now choking the breath from Almna. The allies around her blurred, their shouts of panic fading. Their hands on her person seemed to drift away as she opened her mouth only tasted the seasoning of iron on her turgid tongue. 

 

_    ‘So this is what death is, the famed Taker of Souls, come for me at last.’  _  A fleeting thought, a one of pained resignation. She felt the warmth leaking from her, her internal fire dimming.

 

   And as the cold clung heavy to her limbs, pulling her into the earth, dragging the breath from desperate lungs, Almna spoke the best she could; in halting, cracked tones: “ _ Hall Ze-el, Gaim To-'M, Farr Keen, Alfre-et, Ogma--”  _ The list, so well remembered, each name a note of her chanted song, a woeful poem of epic proportion, the list failed her. She spluttered in the middle of her fifth name — only her  _ fifth _ . Blood soaked her chin. Blood drowned her limply pressed hand in the tidal wave of her hearts tired heaving. Blood, like warmed treacle dribbled, washed away the lingering grime. 

 

   The dying breath, the last scrap of life and she hadn’t finished. Her names weren’t spoken. She had failed, and she was found unworthy. She was going to die. She wasn’t forgiven. 

She wasn’t _ forgiven _ . 

 

   Almna tried, tried for just  _ one _ more. Knowing the odds were more than stacked against her. Knowing her names,  _ all  _ her names, couldn't be spoken now. Almna still tried. The reward for her effort was the sticky trickle of ruby red down her throat on the inhale. The choke hold that dragged at her uvula and summoned gurgling convulsions. 

 

   Her hand slipped off her neck.

 

   Eyes rolled skyward, bloodshot and blue, unseeing and unclear.

 

   No names rang on the winds sweet passing. The heavy stench of death hunted the wasted ground like ravenous hounds in search of rotting flesh, seeking out those dying breaths to bolster it and blow it further. It's howling passage wrapped around her, cool fingers twirling the clotted hair and kissing stiff cheeks.

  
  


   Another soul taken below, names still left dormant on that bloodied tongue.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really like this one and the idea behind it. Basically, if it didn't come across right, when a warrior dies, they have to repeat the names of everyone they killed to make it to the afterlife. It's supposed to prevent wars, and lower crime because you never know how fast you will die and if you will have time. So to be safe, most people would simply not kill anyone to ensure they make it to 'heaven'.
> 
> But it's not fully developed. It's just an idea surrounding the death rituals and mythology surrounding death in this one culture I'm slowly developing...
> 
> Anyway, if you read through it thank you very much. If you didn't I completely understand (though not sure why you would be reading this...)! 
> 
> So have a lovely week and farewell!


End file.
